The Heist
by FicAddy
Summary: Quinn, while robbing a bank, is accidentally identified by a girl she used to go to high school with, one Rachel Berry, and is forced to kidnap her. Written for a prompt.
1. Chapter 1

**This is written for another prompt over at the glee_kink_meme. What can I say? I love not having to think of a plot myself *shrugs* This is the prompt:**

_**Quinn, while robbing a bank, is accidentally identified by a girl she used to go to high school with (one Rachel Berry) and is forced to kidnap her and bring her on her cross-country bank-robbing extravaganza. Sexytimes -con and light bondage (handcuffs, blindfold) would be delicious, but really it would be up to the writer.**_

**And I'm so glad the last part is up to me, because I don't think I'd handle dub-con very well. Light bondage is doable, but I refuse to write anything other than consensual loving. And even then, I have a slight problem with writing anything other than PG-13. I promise to give it a try, but I'm not promising anything explicit. Not that I don't want to, I'm just not sure if I can. And now, on with the show.**

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Quinn Fabray never really believed in all those corny sayings everyone was always spouting, but right now the old saying 'desperate times call for desperate measures' sure sounded right one the money.

_During all the preparation before going into this little venture, Quinn had never thought of this scenario. Up until a few seconds ago, everything had come together quite beautifully: exactly as planned. The bank tellers couldn't have been more cooperative, dutifully filling her duffel bags with obscene amounts of cash._

_Observing the bank for almost two months, had made sure the heist took place at the most quiet time of day. Only seven people there, not including personnel, and all seven of them were now on the floor, facedown and their arms stretched above their heads so she could see their hands. So far, so good._

_It had been a powerful feeling, the minute she'd walked into that bank and had immediately taken out the security guard with a well-placed hit to the back of his head with the butt of her gun. The moment she'd made her intentions clear to one of the tellers by introducing her to the business end of her Heckler & Koch P30, panic had broken out among the small crowd. When everyone seemed to be frozen to their spot when she ordered them to get down, it had only taken one shot in the air to scare them out of their stupor before they were dropping like pins during the Central Ohio Bowling Tour. Again, so far, so good._

_The power trip had lasted and had only seemed to build in force and speed because of everyone doing her bidding. It'd felt like being in high school all over again. Especially when she'd heard _that _voice._

"_Quinn? Quinn Fabray!"_

And it'd stunned her into complete inertness for a split second, because how was it even possible for someone to recognize her while wearing a ski mask?

Whirling around to where she thinks she heard the voice coming from, Quinn's eyes widen dramatically, because _this_ can _not_ be happening! All those nights of losing sleep, religiously pouring over blueprints instead. All those days of stake-outs, foregoing showers and food and life in general and _this_ is her reward? In her mind she hears booming laughter and she's can't decide whether it's God or the devil having fun at her expense. Either way … she's fucked! Royally!

The small figure laying at her feet - and is it wrong that she kinda likes this image? - is none other than Rachel Barbra Berry, pain in the ass extraordinaire! Big, brown eyes are staring up at her in absolute shock and Quinn can imagine her own face mirroring that look quite adequately underneath her mask.

The gears in her head are spinning madly, trying to come up with a 'now what?'.

Since Rachel called her by her full name, there is no way she'll ever be able to walk away from this unscathed. The idea of rotting away in some jail cell, being owned by a big, toothless woman named Bertha, does not sit particularly well with her, so she needs to find a way to escape. And when she finds her gaze still locked with Berry's, who is now somewhat of a celebrity, an idea hits her. And since there's no time to weigh the pros and cons, she just runs with it.

"Get up!" She orders her former nemesis.

The confusion in Rachel's eyes multiplies tenfold, but she doesn't move a muscle.

Quinn rolls her eyes in obvious exasperation.

"Get up!" She hisses again.

Still no movement. The only reaction she does get, is comprehension replacing the confusion in Rachel's eyes.

"You're not thinking of taking me with you, are you?" she whispers harshly.

"Because that is just unacceptable. I have places to be, people to meet. I have a show in a couple of hours and I will be _sorely_ missed, Quinn Fabray. So do whatever you have to, to get yourself out of this ridiculous situation, but leave me be!"

And, apparently, she still talks too much.

Seething that Rachel has mentioned her name not once, but twice now, and time is definitely not on her side. Whipping the now useless mask off, Quinn sees no other option than to raise her gun at the girl and repeat herself for the very last time.

"I. Said. Get. Up."

And as soon as Rachel rises to her knees, fear written all over her face, Quinn's hand seizes her arm and roughly hoists her all the way up. Before she even has a chance to think about defending herself, her back is pressed tightly against Quinn's front, one of the blonde's arms holding her in place. And had it been anything other than the cold, steely feel of a gun barrel pressing against her temple, she might have noticed the incredible heat radiating off of the blonde's body and the firm abdominal muscles twitching underneath the tight black shirt.

What _does _register, is the whispered warning from lips pressed close to her ear.

"You're my ticket out of here. Just work with me and you won't get hurt! I have no qualms about hurting you, as you may well remember, so one word out of you and I _will_ shoot you."

And Rachel shivers. But she's not sure if it's from the issued threat against her life or the feeling of Quinn's warm breath tickling the sensitive outer shell of her ear. She doesn't really want to think about it, either. As if there's any room in her mind for thoughts other than how to get out of this alive.

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**Thanks for reading and I would love some feedback.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

With the H&K still pressed rather convincingly against her temple, Rachel feels herself being pushed towards the exit of the bank. She wonders if the alarm has been set off yet and if so, how long it will take the police to arrive on the scene. It's a thought she needn't concern herself with anymore, though. Before she even notices what's going on, the gun is gone and they're outside. The wailing sound of sirens is getting louder by the second, indicating that the silent alarm has indeed been set in motion and Quinn needs to think of a get away plan _very_ quickly. None of the people outside of the bank seem to know what's going on. Yet. And Quinn decides to take advantage of that.

Rachel feels her hand being taken by one of Quinn's own, the sudden action startling her. Quinn pulls her away from the bank, forcing her to follow her down the street in a leisurely pace, even though everything inside of her tells her to run. But running would gather them too much attention. This way, with their hands clasped and looking composed -mostly- she hopes to escape the gathering crowd by looking, for all the world to see, like a normal girl taking a normal walk around town with her not-so-normal girlfriend. And it's working.

Picking up the pace once they're out of sight, Quinn leads Rachel through garbage-filled back alleys until coming to a stop next to a beat-up Dodge Van. It's a rust bucket on wheels and Rachel considers telling Quinn there is no way in H.E.L.L. she'll be seen driven around in that thing. But the memory of the rather impressive gun and what it could do, makes her swallow her words for probably the first time in her life.

Making her way to the back of the van, still gripping Rachel's hand, she opens the back doors and tells her to get in.

"Are you _fucking_ _kidding_ me, Quinn?" Rachel spits at her, trying to free herself from the hand still holding on to her tightly.

"Do you seriously expect me to roll over and play dead? You're lucky I didn't scream bloody murder the second we exited that bank."

Quinn looks at her steadily, unimpressed with the outburst.

"If you don't get into that van, Berry, you won't need to _play_ dead. You _will_ be dead. Now, get in!"

Watching hazel eyes grow artic and _knowing _this particular tone of voice, an ice cold shiver runs down Rachel's back. And even though she sincerely doubts that Quinn will actually shoot her, she doesn't want to risk it. She hasn't seen this girl - no, woman - in quite a few years and Rachel has no idea what _this_ Quinn is or isn't capable of. So she climbs into the van, with Quinn right behind her. The dull bang of the door closing, sounds awfully final and for the first time since this whole ordeal started, Rachel feels pure and unadulterated fear coursing through her veins.

Sitting on her knees, facing the front of the van, she hears Quinn unzip a bag, followed by the clanking sound of metal touching metal.

"Put your hands behind your back," Quinn barks.

Rachel is shaking now. Realization has finally set in and she's scared shitless. She dutifully assumes the ordered position, dropping her head in defeat.

With more care than expected, Quinn cuffs her wrists tightly together, before cuffing her ankles, too. Rachel tries to identify the sounds behind her, trying to figure out what'll happen next. She feels her bound wrists being pulled down towards the floor board of the van, forcing her to arch her back a little. She thinks she knows where this is going and when she hears the dull jingle of a heavy chain being pulled from the bag, she's knows she's right. A bit of jostling and a resolute 'click' later, the cuffs on her wrists and ankles are chained together, leaving her completely helpless.

Rachel feels the burn of angry tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Never has she felt so completely powerless. The words escaping her mouth are a mere whisper, despite the anger she feels building up inside of her.

"Why are you doing to this me? Haven't you humiliated me enough for a lifetime already?"

Quinn doesn't respond right away, her mind fully occupied with the scene before her. The feeling from before, during the heist, when Rachel was lying at her feet, is returning in full force. She feels her heart rate go up, her breaths quickening. This is not good. This is not good, _at all_!

The startling thoughts shake her out of her stupor. Remembering the questions she's been asked, Quinn tries to decide how to answer them.

"You seem to have a penchant for being in my way at the most inopportune moments possible. It's good to know some things haven't changed," she coolly retorts.

"And trust me when I say I would've gladly left you behind back there. The only reason you're here is because you couldn't keep your motor mouth shut! You're extremely lucky I no longer go by Fabray!"

Suddenly Quinn's curious. How _did_ Rachel recognize her?

"How did you know it was me?"

She watches Rachel lift her head a little, trying to look over her shoulder, but failing when she almost loses her balance from having her limbs constrained. Small shoulders drop in defeat, once again, before she hears a mumbled, "Your eyes."

"Come again?"

"Your eyes! I knew it was you, because of your eyes!"

"My eyes?" Quinn's confused now.

"Yes, your eyes. Trust _me_ when I say that it's hard to forget the eyes that have been looking at me in contempt for the better part of our high school years!"

Quinn can see some of Rachel's fire returning, defiance clearly visible in the straightening of her back and the squaring of her shoulders.

The answer's not what she expected. It stings a bit, this heated confession. It settles somewhere in the vicinity of her heart. It feels a lot like guilt, but Quinn refuses to accept it. Rachel's the one who got out of that hellhole and succeeded, while Quinn tried to do the same and failed. So, no, she will not feel guilty for the things that happened years ago. Rachel lived to tell about it, a success story in the making, while Quinn is barely hanging on, robbing banks for a living for crying out loud! But no matter how hard she tries to push the feeling aside, the guilt is still there and it pisses her off!

"Poor, little Rachel Berry," Quinn taunts in a sickeningly sweet voice.

"Still crying over the mean cheerleaders that called her bad names in high school. Tell you what, _Treasure Trail_: Get over it! You're the one with the fancy apartment and the big, fat bank account. You showed us all, didn't you? You showed us all that _we_ are the idiots. Every single one of us, Lima Losers for the rest of our _pathetic_ little lives!"

The venom lacing her words, makes her foam at the mouth. She's well and truly enraged by now. Not waiting for a reaction, she grabs for her bag and yanks out a blindfold. With blinding speed she robs Rachel of her sight, trying hard to ignore the singer's quiet crying while doing so. Taking her by the shoulders, she carefully topples her to the side to help her lie down, trying not to hurt her wrists or ankles in the process. Once she's down, Quinn retreats and after a long moment of just looking at her, she heaves a deep sigh and opens the door to the van. It's time to get going.


	3. Chapter 3

After driving for about an hour, Rachel feels the van come to a stop. The slamming of a door nearby indicating that Quinn has left the vehicle. Seconds after, she hears the back door open, the shallow dip of the van telling her that Quinn has rejoined her.

"We're changing transport. I'm going to take the cuffs off of your ankles, your wrists will remain bound. I'm sure I don't have to remind you to just come along quietly. Follow my instructions and you'll be okay."

While Quinn is taking her cuffs off, she notices that Rachel's no longer crying. The fear is obviously still there, and Quinn can practically hear her asking herself why this is happening to her and why Quinn won't just let her go.

Once her ankles are freed, Rachel turns to her captor.

"Why do I have to go with you?" BINGO!

"I promise to keep my mouth shut. Please, just let me go!"

Quinn can't help but chuckle.

"You? Promising to keep your mouth shut? Somehow I don't see that working out the way I'd like it to. Now, just … get up and get a move on, Man-hands!"

Quinn helps her to her feet and moves her towards the double doors.

"Hold on," she barks, before jumping out of the van.

Rachel only has a split second to be confused, because suddenly she feels hands gripping her hips and for a terrifying moment she's airborne. When Quinn puts her to her feet, she hears a gasp coming from her left. Since Quinn is still in front of her - she can tell by scent - it's decidedly not Quinn making that sound.

"Oh. My. Fucking. God…"

The voice sounds very familiar, but Rachel's unable to connect a face to it.

"Q, is _that_ who I think it is?" And loud barks of laughter follows the awed statement.

Quinn can't appreciate her friend's sense of humor right now.

"Yes, S, it's _exactly_ who you think it is. Now stop laughing and do what you're paid to do."

"Oh, come on, Q. This is priceless! You really pissed God off somewhere along the line, didn't you? I can't wait to tell B!"

And Rachel no longer needs to dig through her mental photo albums. Even if Quinn hadn't given it away, there'd be no doubt in her mind.

"Santana?" Rachel quietly questions, effectively stopping the Latina's laughter.

"Hey there, Stubbles. I wish you could tell me how good it is to see me again, but Quinn's been quite the eager, little kidnapper, I see," Santana snickers, before settling her gaze on Quinn.

"How the hell did this happen, Q? When you said you were going for the gold this time, I expected you to return with gold bars, not gold stars!"

Quinn's rolling her eyes at a, still, highly amused Santana.

"The fuck if I know. Everything was going according to plan until this one decided to open her irritating little trap and announced my name for everyone to hear. Twice!"

"So, no gold bars?" Santana questions.

Quinn shakes her head in the negative.

"No gold bars. No nothing. I had to get out of there before the police arrived."

Santana nods her head in contemplation.

"Okay, so," she starts and Quinn already knows she's not going to like whatever's coming next.

"You had time to get away _and_ you had your hands free _before_ the cops were even on their way?"

A reluctant nod.

"Then why the hell did you grab _her_ instead of, oh I don't know, a couple of duffels filled with doe? Explain it to me, Quinn, because I don't think I've ever been _this_ confused!"

Santana's seething by now and Quinn knows she has every right to be. What the hell was wrong with her? She could've walked away a free woman _with_ hundreds of thousands of dollars. The only thing she has now is a hostage she has no idea what to do with.

"Fuck!" she curses under her breath.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the HELL was I thinking!"

"My sentiments exactly, but it doesn't matter now," Santana cuts in, worrying about the way Quinn's beating herself up.

"What _does_ matter is the fact that you have a hostage on your hands and we need to figure out how to get rid of her."

The words make Rachel go rigid with fear. They wouldn't really … dispose of her, would they?

Quinn's quick to allay her worries.

"I don't think it's a good idea to let her go just yet. I need some time to think about this. Maybe it'd be best if I just take her with me."

It's more of a question than it is a statement. Quinn really wonders if it's a good idea to bring Rachel to her hideout, but right now, it's the only option she can think of.

"I think you're right," Santana agrees.

"Just lay low for a while. We'll let her go as soon as all of this blows over."

"Okay. And I'm really sorry about all of this, S. I know how much you wanted me to pull this off."

"It's okay, Q. You win some, you lose some."

"Thanks, San. I think we should be going now. Tell B I love her and miss her. I'll contact you in a couple of days, okay? I love you."

They hug before Santana gets behind the wheel of the van and takes off.

Focusing back on Rachel, she sees the tiny brunette leaning back against a tree trunk.

"Well, that was touching," the diva sneers.

"Can we leave now? I need to … go."

Not appreciating the return of The Attitude, Quinn narrows her eyes at the most recent bane of her existence.

"Well, this must be your lucky day then," she growls while making her way over and ripping off the blindfold.

Blinking her eyes against the brightness of the sunlight, Rachel takes a look around her. They're in the middle of a clearing in what is obviously a forest.

Training her eyes back onto Quinn, she can't help but notice the evil smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

With a wide swipe of her arm, Quinn bows down to her.

"Welcome to nature's biggest restroom. I'm sure you'll be able to find a tree to your liking."

And with that, Quinn turns on her heel and marches towards her brand new Red Candy colored Mustang, left behind by Santana, thinking to herself, _'Wait for it … wait for iiiiit …'_

"_QUINN._ _FABRAY_!" Jackpot!

Nonchalantly leaning back against her baby, hands stuffed in her pockets as if she hadn't a care in the world, she acknowledges the screeching of her name with only the raise of an eyebrow.

Rachel's fury is radiating off of her in waves. Quinn thinks it's the funniest thing she's seen in a long time.

"You _cannot_ be serious about me relieving myself in these woods!"

Quinn merely shrugs in reply.

"Have it your way then. Once we get into this car, there will be no time for bathroom breaks. Either you do it here or you hold it in until we reach the cabin."

Rachel's quiet for a long moment, as if contemplating what to do. She knows she really has no other choice than to do it here, because she really does need to go, but the thought of doing it so publicly embarrasses her to no end. On the other hand, wetting the, undoubtedly leather upholstery of Quinn's car, probably wouldn't go over all that well, either.

"Fine," she huffs, before doing a one-eighty and storming off towards the tree line.

"Fine," Quinn mockingly mimics, trailing after her.

Hearing the footsteps behind her, Rachel freezes and spins around.

"Where the hell do you think you're going!"

Quinn keeps walking, grabbing Rachel by the elbow as she passes her, tugging her along.

"Where the hell do you think I'm going? I'm not letting you out of my sight. Can't have you running off, now, can we?"

It takes a couple of seconds before Quinn sees comprehension dawn on Rachel's face.

"You're going to _watch_ me?"

"Well, not in the literal sense of the word, because that is just a bit too kinky for my tastes, but I'll be … around, yes."

Rachel scoffs at her.

"Too kinky, huh? Well, somehow it wouldn't surprise me at all, judging by how you had me bound, chained and blindfolded in, like, no time at all. Are you sure this isn't just another one of your perverted little fetishes?"

The taunt makes her blush. Since she's pushing Rachel in front of her, it goes unnoticed. Which is a blessing, because she'd never be able to explain it away.

"Trust me. I'd rather go blind."

The blush may have gone unnoticed, but Rachel does register the pause before the answer. And Rachel, being Rachel, thinks she's onto something. And when that happens, Rachel has a tendency to sink her teeth into it like a pit-bull and be just as determined to hold on.

"You took your sweet time on that one, Quinn. I think I may have stumbled upon a couple of fantasies here. Want to tell me about them?"

The sugary sweet tone in which Rachel delivers the words, is starting to grate on her nerves. She doesn't want to think of another reason why there's a sudden fire igniting in the pit of her stomach.

"Shut up and keep walking."

"Oh, _tou_-_chy_! It's okay to have fantasies, Quinn. Everybody has them. I just never figured you for the type of girl to think outside of the box. You know, missionary-all-the-way-Fabray!"

Rachel, apparently, finds herself extremely funny, but Quinn is less than amused.

"I told you to shut up and keep walking. No, you know what, you don't have a say in this anymore."

Quinn gives her one last shove before releasing her.

"Do it! Right here, right now!"

Rachel smirks, reveling in the knowledge that she managed to rile Quinn up.

"Oh, _so_ forceful! Is that what your dreams are made of? Manhandling a woman into submission. I can picture it, you know. You'd make a very good Dom, I think. Do you ever get whips involved?"

Quinn's nearing the end of her rope. Every single word escaping her mouth is being used against her and it drives her crazy. She's considering using her gun to silence her tormentor, but decides against it almost the same second she thinks it up. But a threat is in order. This situation is getting _way _out of hand!

"Don't make me hurt you," she hisses and the moment the words leave her lips, she realizes her mistake.

Rachel's grin widens exponentially before she bursts into a fit of laughter.

"Keep digging, Quinn. You're already one foot in."

And Quinn has to turn around, because, damn it, Rachel's making her smile. With her back turned towards her, she gives it one last try.

"Just pee already, Rachel. The sooner we get out of here, the better. You don't want to be walking these woods after sundown."

"Why not?"

"Because my guns holds sixteen bullets. One of them is stuck in the ceiling of the bank, which leaves us with fifteen. And since I have absolutely no idea how many wolves go into a pack, I'd rather be safe than sorry."

The immediate rustle of clothes is the only reply to her words. Trusting Rachel to follow her back to the car, Quinn tries to give her a little more privacy by taking a couple of steps away from her. Only to be stopped by a mildly panicked voice.

"Where are you going? You're not leaving me here for the wolves to find, are you?"

Quinn's the one laughing now.

"Don't be a drama queen, Berry. Just hurry up and I won't leave without you."

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**Any and all feedback is much appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

It's been a while since the last update. Sorry about that!

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_

_How chapter 3 ended..._

_Quinn's nearing the end of her rope. Every single word escaping her mouth is being used against her and it drives her crazy. She's considering using her gun to silence her tormentor, but decides against it almost the same second she thinks it up. But a threat is in order. This situation is getting way out of hand!_

__

"Don't make me hurt you," she hisses and the moment the words leave her lips, she realizes her mistake.

Rachel's grin widens exponentially before she bursts into a fit of laughter.

"Keep digging, Quinn. You're already one foot in."

And Quinn has to turn around, because, damn it, Rachel's making her smile. With her back turned towards her, she gives it one last try.

"Just pee already, Rachel. The sooner we get out of here, the better. You don't want to be walking these woods after sundown."

"Why not?"

"Because my guns holds sixteen bullets. One of them is stuck in the ceiling of the bank, which leaves us with fifteen. And since I have absolutely no idea how many wolves go into a pack, I'd rather be safe than sorry."

The immediate rustle of clothes is the only reply to her words. Trusting Rachel to follow her back to the car, Quinn tries to give her a little more privacy by taking a couple of steps away from her. Only to be stopped by a mildly panicked voice.

"Where are you going? You're not leaving me here for the wolves to find, are you?"

Quinn's the one laughing now.

"Don't be a drama queen, Berry. Just hurry up and I won't leave without you."

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"I like this car. It's very … you," Rachel offers once they're finally en route. Even though Quinn re-cuffed her ankles, she's glad to be free of the cuffs on her wrists. The fact that she sort of likes the limited amount of movement the cuffs allow, is something she's told herself not to dwell on.

"Very ___me_? What does that mean?"

"You know, all red hot on the outside, soft on the inside," Rachel cheekily replies, while running her hand down the smooth leather of the back of the driver's seat.

Quinn doesn't look at her, only snorts at the cheesy line.

"If you're trying to pick me up, it's not working."

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to handle your particular urges. I like to pee in private and nothing will ever change that. So, rest assured. I'm not trying to pick you up."

Quinn sighs in response.

"Back to that, are we? I feel obligated to point it out to you that you're the one who seems to have an unhealthy fascination with the subject. Are you sure you're not just projecting?"

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. You'll never get it out of me."

It's a response Quinn didn't quite expect. Looking sideways, her eyes catch Rachel's. There's a definite challenge in them.

"Well, aren't you just full of surprises? Care to share?"

"Not in this lifetime and most certainly not with you. Knowing you and your tendencies to grace the internet with colorful comments, my official website would have to be closed down due to explicit content. I'll pass."

And there's that annoying sting again. She feels it every time Rachel brings up their past.

"You do realize I've grown up, don't you? I'm hardly the girl I was in high school anymore."

"I've noticed," Rachel assents, but she doesn't say anything else.

A tense silence fills the car. Quinn has no idea what to say or if she should even try and start a conversation. Thankfully, after only a few minutes, Rachel takes the decision out of her hands.

"Where are you taking me?"

- "I own a cabin upstate. That's where we're going."

"Why did you take me with you?"

- "I needed you to give me cover."

"Why not release me once you got what you wanted?"

- "I can't risk you telling anyone."

"Does that mean you'll never let me go? I could rat you out at any time after you set me free."

- "You'll be free to return to your beloved Broadway very soon. I just need some time to regroup and come up with an alibi."

"What if there's a significant other waiting for me at home in the city who's about to go out of their mind with worry? Or kids that need dinner and a bath? Or pets that need to be walked?"

- "Is there? A significant other, I mean."

A heartbeat. And another.

"No."

- "What about kids?"

"None."

- "Pets?"

"One. A goldfish in dire need of fresh water."

- "You walk your goldfish?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

- "Friends?"

"Only a few and not very close ones. Broadway is a highly competitive environment. What about you?"

- "What about me?"

A sigh and a rather impressive eye roll.

"Significant other, kids, pets, friends?"

- "Nothing of the sort, except for Britt and Santana, of course."

"Are they categorized as pets or as friends?"

- "Don't be ridiculous."

"Straight or gay?"

- "Huh?"

"I think you heard me, but I'll ask again. Straight or gay?"

- "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"So, a lesbian, huh? I never would've guessed."

- "What makes you so sure I'm gay? I didn't even answer the question!"

"And when you didn't, you did. Had you been straight, you wouldn't have avoided answering the question."

- "And what makes you such an expert on all things LGBT?"

"I'm a lesbian and the fact that you just used the abbreviation LGBT only solidifies my earlier conclusion. You are so gay!"

- "Fine! I'm gay. Happy now?"

"Couldn't be gayer!"

- "Dork."

"Are we there yet?"

- "No."

"How much longer?"

- "Thirty minutes. Tops."

After that, the silence returns, but it isn't quite as tense as before. Rachel tries to relax in her seat, but the thoughts racing through her mind won't let her. The thing that worries her the most, is whether or not her understudy is available tonight. She hates to disappoint her audience. Then another thought hits her.

"Oh!" she almost yells, making Quinn jump in her seat.

"What is it?"

"I need to contact my agent! He'll freak out if I'm not there without an explanation."

Quinn nods her head in understanding.

"Valid point. You can call him when we get to the cabin. What are you going to tell him?" A little bit of anxiety creeps into her voice.

"I'll just tell him I've fallen ill, or something along those lines. That might buy us some time."

Quinn feels a funny pull in her stomach.

"Us?"

Rachel turns her head to meet Quinn's eyes.

"Us. Whether you planned this or not, we're in this together now. I don't know why, but the thought of you getting caught and thrown into jail isn't as satisfactory as I believed it to be earlier this afternoon."

Quinn raises an eyebrow at this.

"And why is that?"

Rachel shrugs, turning her attention away from the blonde.

"It just isn't. I think the situation would be completely different if you were someone I'd never met before. It's a matter of trust, I think."

"Trust? Are you saying you trust me?"

Another shrug.

"Even after I threatened you with a gun, repeatedly, you trust me?" Quinn asks in disbelief.

"I was never afraid you were going to use it on me. I know you, or rather, I knew you. And I simply refuse to believe that you've changed enough to actually be able to take another person's life."

When Quinn doesn't respond to the hidden question, Rachel starts to squirm in discomfort.

"You … haven't, have you? Taken a life?"

Quinn is quick to shake her head in the negative, drawing a relieved sigh out of Rachel.

"No. No, I haven't. You're right. I could never do something like that. I'm just … confused, I guess. You're a very confusing woman, Rachel Berry."

"Yeah," Rachel drawls in resignation, "I get that a lot."

Quinn catches the intonation and tries to make eye contact.

"It's not necessarily a bad thing, you know."

Rachel shrugs again, sinking back into her seat even further, avoiding Quinn's gaze.

"It's not necessarily a good thing, either."

Watching the slouched posture of her temporary hostage, Quinn feels another tug low in her belly. She hates the defeat radiating off of the small shoulders, but doesn't really know how to handle it. Maybe she should just keep her talking. It's something she knows Rachel loves to do and, if memory serves her well, there's one topic that always gets her going.

"So tell me a little more about you. How did life treat you after high school?"

And Quinn knows she struck gold with that question, because Rachel immediately starts talking about Julliard and working in karaoke-bars to earn some money. After that, she reminisces about auditions and rejection before acceptance and her first off-Broadway gig. Then the stories of people recognizing her on the streets of New York and the first time someone asked her for her autograph. How unreal it all seemed and felt, even though she had planned all of it from the tender age of four.

It's a blast from the past, this side of Rachel. It's strangely comforting and Quinn is really glad to have pulled her from her earlier funk. Because she also remembers Rachel's less than stellar days from back then and it's something Quinn doesn't care to relive. Ever.

With Rachel still deeply engrossed in purging her memoirs, Quinn slows the car down and takes a right turn leading them onto a dirt road. She's certain Rachel hasn't even noticed them leaving the main road. When, after a bumpy ten-minute drive, a beautiful log cabin appears before them, Rachel finally stops talking.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"When you said cabin, I didn't think you meant something quite like this."

The first thing entering Rachel's mind is: It's huge! The ground floor is built from stone, with steps leading to a patio where a gigantic fireplace resides. The rest of the structure is indeed built from logs, but it's not so much a cabin as it is a mansion. Rachel is in complete awe of the place, taking it in with wide eyes and a slackened jaw.

Quinn can't help but feel pride engulf her. She designed the place herself and, besides Brittany and Santana, no one knows of its existence. She loves Rachel's reaction to her 'humble abode'. It fills her with a sense of accomplishment. Something she hasn't felt for a long time. She likes it.


	5. Chapter 5

I keep forgetting this (not because it's not important, but because I'm always so darn eager to post something once it's finished), so let me take the time to tell everyone who has reviewed and/or favorited this story and/or its author: THANK YOU!

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Chapter 5

After parking her car in the underground garage, Quinn turns off the engine and just sits there for a minute. Now that they're here, she doesn't really know what to do. Having a hostage, especially _this_ hostage, wasn't part of the plan. Granted, Rachel's been very calm throughout the whole ordeal, but Quinn knows the Queen of Broadway will want to return to her castle sooner rather than later.

When another minute of silence passes, in which she feels concerned brown eyes roaming her profile, she heaves an exhausted sigh.

"Quinn? Are you okay?"

And Quinn can't help but think how ridiculous this situation is turning out to be. Rachel's the one being held against her will. Shouldn't Quinn be the one asking if _she's_ okay? Feeling she has no right to Rachel's concern, she pretends not to have heard the question.

"Why don't we get you inside," is all she says before leaning over the center console to relieve Rachel of her shackles, startling the bound woman a little with her sudden proximity.

It only takes Quinn a couple of seconds to take off the restraints, but in those seconds she has managed to make Rachel feel quite a myriad of emotions. Quinn is practically in her lap. Rachel feels warm breath against her bare shins. Nimble fingers against the soft skin of her ankles. And - Oh God - the press of small breasts against her knees and thighs. She's trying so hard not to moan from the delicious friction against her rapidly heating body, but Quinn doesn't make it easy. When she feels cool hands gently encircling her ankles, thumbs rubbing the slightly irritated, sensitive flesh, Rachel's eyes close of their own accord and the shivers going up and down her back can't be helped.

What also can't be helped, is Quinn noticing and responding in a similar fashion. The short skirt, showing off bare legs, so close to her lips. The smooth, silk-like skin of Rachel's ankles, right underneath her fingertips. The warmth against her upper body, from where she's pressed against toned thighs. A lightning bolt of lust shoots through her, settling low in her stomach. She's glad the resulting hitch in her breathing and the quivering of her fingers gets lost in her captive's shiver. It all happens in just a few short seconds, leaving both women breathless as well as confused. It shouldn't be possible to feel this much in such a short timespan, should it?

Deciding not to dwell on it for the moment, Quinn retreats and hastily makes her way out of the car. Noticing the lack of movement from her unexpected charge, she takes a deep breath to compose herself, then leans back down to address a still slightly dazed Rachel.

"You coming?"

Quinn watches Rachel's head turn as if in slow-motion. Eyes, darker than she ever remembers seeing them, focus on her own with unnerving intent.

"Yeah," Rachel breathes in a near unrecognizable tone of voice. "Coming."

And Quinn knows it's wrong, but in light of the past few minutes and _that_ voice, she can't stop her mind from taking a dive straight into the gutter. She has a feeling Rachel is already down there or will be joining her there very soon. It worries her. She needs to concentrate on how to get them out of this mess, not make an even bigger one.

Once Rachel is out of the car and beside her, Quinn heads for the stairs leading up to the house. Halting at the bottom of the steps, she motions for Rachel to lead the way upstairs. It's a bad judgment call, because now, watching Rachel ascend those steps, she has a perfect view of a perky backside, barely concealed by the small scrape of fabric some designer deemed fit to call a skirt. Now Quinn's the one going near catatonic, but she's saved by the voice coming from the top of the stairs.

"Coming?" Rachel husks.

Quinn can only stare while climbing the steps, muttering, "Yes, please."

Rachel falls right back in awe once they hit the landing. As impressive as the cabin is on the outside, the interior is downright stunning. The stairs have led them to a wide, open space, quite clearly functioning as a living room. The log walls are beautifully finished with a dark lacquer, making it look cozy despite the sheer size of it. The warm burgundy of the heavy drapes matches the colonial-styled furniture that has obviously been very carefully selected.

Another stone fireplace catches Rachel's eye. It's almost as big as the one outside, this one taking up a good part of the wall on the other side of the room. In her mind she sees herself lying in front of it, naked, her front pressed to the warm, lean back of an equally naked lover. On a bed made of blankets and pillows, after having made love for hours, the blazing fire painting entrancing shadows across her lover's slumbering body. And Rachel doesn't need to see her face to know who it is her dream-state self is wrapped around so contentedly. It should be disconcerting, but she doesn't feel anything of the sort. Nothing that evokes such an overpowering sense of belonging should be tainted by feelings like shame or guilt.

She is embarrassed, however, when the live version of her dream lover gingerly lays a hand upon her upper arm, asking her if she's alright. With a start Rachel comes back down from her fireplace-induced cloud, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks from being caught daydreaming about the woman standing right beside her. Not quite ready to meet Quinn's eyes, Rachel scans the room once more, reveling in its warmth.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just very impressed with your skills as an interior decorator!"

Quinn blushes from the received compliment, even though she has no right to. She wonders if she should tell Rachel about the significance of this house. Her home.

"I wish I could take full credit for this, but I can't. I had a little help from people who knew what they were doing. While I did have the final say, this room was decorated without my interference. Call me the co-pilot, if you want."

"Well, if that's the case," Rachel chuckles while playfully bumping Quinn's hip with her own, "then I think you need a promotion. I'd fly with you every day, Captain!"

It's such a dorky thing to say, but at the same time it's so completely Rachel, that Quinn can't help but laugh.

"Come on, you dork. I'll show you the rest of the house."

After having received the 'grand tour', which takes up the better part of an hour, Quinn makes her way to another flight of stairs. Rachel is thoroughly confused when they stop at the bottom rather abruptly and she watches Quinn start fidgeting.

"What's wrong? Did you just remember you forgot to make the bed or something?"

"No, it's not that," Quinn starts without knowing how to proceed, rubbing her hands together in a nervous gesture.

"It's just that …" A sigh and more furious hand rubbing.

"Can I trust you, Rachel?"

Rachel's eyebrows drop in confusion. Tilting her head in wonderment, she watches Quinn's confidence melt like snow in hell. The glitter in her eyes is gone, Rachel notices, even though Quinn refuses to look at her directly. This is very obviously a defining moment, even if Rachel's a little bit hurt by the lack of trust displayed.

"I'm not sure why you're asking me this, Quinn. Can I be trusted to do what, exactly?"

Quinn sighs, knowing she should've expected this.

"I want to know if I can trust you not to run. I want to know if I can go to sleep at night without having to worry about having my home invaded by the police and getting dragged out of bed at gunpoint because you decided you don't want to be here, after all. I know you said we're in this together now, but can I trust you to not go back on that decision?"

Quinn's voice is strangely meek. Rachel doesn't think she's ever heard Quinn speak with anything other than utter confidence. Not back then, when her sharp tongue and even sharper wit were the only deadly weapons she carried. Not in the last few hours, when her carefully laid out plans were ruined by Rachel's recognition of her high school nemesis.

"I'm a little hurt by your questioning my loyalty to you, but I can't say I don't understand it. All I can say is that you _can _trust me. I told you, only a few hours ago, that _I_ trust _you_. I trust you to not harm me. I trust you to take care of this unfortunate turn of events. I trust you to take care of me. And I know trust isn't some courtesy that can be returned easily, but you can trust me, Quinn. I won't harm you. I want you out of this situation just as much as you want me out of it. _I_ want to take care of _you_."

The words come out with force, with conviction. Rachel hasn't changed much, _at all_. Quinn knows she's incapable of lying. Remembers the passion behind each and every argument concerning her then future career. She knows when Rachel _believes_ whatever it is she's saying, wanting so badly for others to believe it, too. So she knows there's no real need to worry, and even though trust is an everlasting issue with Quinn, she decides to risk it.

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**I'd love to hear your thoughts on this!  
Hope you enjoyed.**


	6. Chapter 6

**So, it's been a while. A long while, I know. But the next chapter's here and you and I should thank LuvReg for kicking my butt into gear and RandomOtakuFromTumblr for preventing me from putting on the brakes on it once again. Reviews really are the way to get the muse going! So, Thank You!**

I realize it's been almost a year. I have a couple of different stories I'm working on and this one got left behind. I have a pretty good idea of where I want this to go, so updating should happen a bit more often from now on. I do have a dayjob, though. Just so you know ;)

**Onto the story. I hope you enjoy!**

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_**Previously**_

"_Can I trust you, Rachel?"_

_Rachel's eyebrows drop in confusion. Tilting her head in wonderment, she watches Quinn's confidence melt like snow in hell. The glitter in her eyes is gone, Rachel notices, even though Quinn refuses to look at her directly. This is very obviously a defining moment, even if Rachel's a little bit hurt by the lack of trust displayed._

"_I'm not sure why you're asking me this, Quinn. Can I be trusted to do what, exactly?"_

_Quinn sighs, knowing she should've expected this._

"_I want to know if I can trust you not to run. I want to know if I can go to sleep at night without having to worry about having my home invaded by the police and getting dragged out of bed at gunpoint because you decided you don't want to be here, after all. I know you said we're in this together now, but can I trust you to not go back on that decision?"_

_Quinn's voice is strangely meek. Rachel doesn't think she's ever heard Quinn speak with anything other than utter confidence. Not back then, when her sharp tongue and even sharper wit were the only deadly weapons she carried. Not in the last few hours, when Rachel's recognition of her high school nemesis had ruined her carefully laid out plans._

"_I'm a little hurt by your questioning my loyalty to you, but I can't say I don't understand it. All I can say is that you can trust me. I told you, only a few hours ago, that I trust you. I trust you not to harm me. I trust you to take care of this unfortunate turn of events. I trust you to take care of me. I know trust isn't some courtesy that can be returned easily, but you can trust me, Quinn. I won't harm you. I want you out of this situation just as much as you want me out of it. I want to take care of you."_

_The words come out with force, with conviction. Rachel hasn't changed much, at all. Quinn knows she's incapable of lying. Remembers the passion behind every argument concerning her then future career. She knows when Rachel believes whatever it is she's saying, wanting so badly for others to believe it, too. So she knows there's no real need to worry, and even though trust is an everlasting issue with Quinn, she decides to risk it._

**Chapter 6**

Rachel can feel the tension dissipating from between them. The sorely missed brightness returns to Quinn's eyes and when they meet Rachel's, a small, grateful smile pulls at the corners of the blonde's lips. They've reached an understanding.

Satisfied, Quinn turns and starts climbing the stairs, she gestures for Rachel to follow her.

"Let me show you to your room."

Rachel's already behind her, trying very hard not to let her gaze linger on the enticing view in front of her, all the while thinking she really _should_ turn Quinn in. Not for robbing that bank and 'holding her hostage', oh no. This woman should be arrested for wearing those pants with the intent to kill, because Rachel's dying, all right. Dying to touch that perfectly sculpted ass in those criminally tight trousers.

The stairs lead to an impressive hallway. Rachel's sure she's falling in love with her temporary digs, admiring the well thought out color schemes and impressive paintings lining the walls. When Quinn suddenly stops in front of an off-white door, she notices one step too late, stumbles, then ends up front-to-back with the slightly taller blonde. Mortified by her clumsiness, Rachel hastily takes a step back, a slight blush coloring tan cheeks. Quinn turns around slowly, the hint of a smirk teasing the corners of her mouth.

"Daydreaming, Berry? You haven't changed a bit, have you?" She grins confidently.

In her head, she's frantically screaming at her body to calm down. The feeling of Rachel pressed up against her, even for just that split second, is wreaking havoc of on her senses. Quinn just knows that tonight, in bed; she'll still be able to feel the warmth blanketing her back just now, as well as the press of soft breasts just beneath her shoulder blades.

Rachel is thinking along the same lines. Embarrassment had caused her to retreat quickly. Which is a good thing, she decides. Had she been more aware of the situation, she'd probably done something stupid. Like wrap her arms around the inviting softness of Quinn's body or bury her nose in the short blonde mess of hair to get to that deliciously delectable neck she'd been dreaming about in high school. She'll fantasize about this moment later. She knows she will. There'll be no holding back then, doing everything she didn't get to do, just now. She can't wait.

The sound of a door opening pulls Rachel from her imaginative foreplay. Quinn's watching her with amused eyes, almost as if she knows where Rachel's mind's at.

"After you, Ms. Berry", Quinn politely urges, only to not so politely stare at Rachel's ass when the brunette steps into the room.

Rachel is as taken with this room as she is with the rest of the cabin. Pirouetting in place, she takes in the huge bedroom. A large Transom window, flanked by two smaller ones on either side, provides a breathtaking view of the grounds surrounding the cabin. A California king sized sleigh bed, beautifully handcrafted from oak wood, sits proudly against the far wall. At first glance, this room appears rather sterile with its off-white walls and stark-white curtains, but the heavy, dark wood of the furnishings and the beamed ceiling contrast beautifully, giving the room an overall classic look.

"Wow!" Rachel manages to breathe out.

"Just … Wow, Quinn! I think I'm in love", she gushes, meeting Quinn's eyes with her own.

If Rachel notices the coloring of pale cheeks, she doesn't let on. With a giddy hop and skip, she propels herself onto the enormous bed, feeling like she could get lost in its cloud-like fluffiness. Squirming around for a couple of seconds, she finally ends up on her back in the middle of the bed. With eyes closed in bliss, hair mussed up, arms spread out to either side and legs not quite pressed together, the image sends Quinn's libido straight through the hard wood beamed ceiling, only to have it end up somewhere in the god damn _stratosphere_.

Swallowing with great difficulty and unconsciously licking her lips, Quinn tries to think of something to say to get herself out of her increasingly embarrassing predicament. With a rapidly increasing heartbeat ~ and an echoing pulse between her thighs ~ she tries to look away from the inviting picture Rachel presents. Unruly dark locks resting against a silken pillowcase. Shirt pulled tight against a modestly sized chest highlighting Rachel's … 'enthusiasm' quite plainly. Short skirt showing off tan, toned legs, the fabric creating shadows between those mouthwatering thighs, almost begging her to find out where they'll lead her.

Quinn feels something inside of her bursting to be set free. Or maybe it's _someone_. Maybe it's high school Quinn, fighting to finally be let out after spending years and years in confinement, rattling against the cage welded shut around her heart by her parents and society all those years ago. Either way, she's having trouble restraining herself. It takes everything inside of her to not take the running leap that would land her beside Rachel. Better yet, _on top_ of Rachel.

Rachel saves her from making a fool out of herself by piping up from the bed. Maybe 'saves' isn't the word she's looking for. Because when her brain registers Rachel's question, the heat is back. Tenfold.

"Judging from our conversation earlier in the day, I have to say I'm surprised by the lack of restraints, Quinn. I fully expected to be shackled to the bed the moment you led me in here. I can't say I'm not a bit disappointed."

Quinn easily hears the teasing in Rachel's voice, but the thoughts running rampant in her head right now are drowning out anything resembling rational thinking. In Quinn's mind, Rachel is tied to the bed; spread eagle, naked and begging for it. Oh, there's that pulsing sensation again. And she thinks she may be going into cardiac arrest any second now, if her heart rate's any indication.

Remembering their easy banter from the car ride, Quinn tries to kick start her brain into forming something close to a coherent thought. Watching the cheeky grin directed at her, Quinn knows Rachel thinks she's already won this round. The munchkin is challenging her. Quinn likes a challenge.

With a confident smirk, she lets her eyes travel the length of Rachel's body once more. Slowly and deliberately. When her heated gaze lands on Rachel's face, she can't help but feel extremely satisfied to find her blushing profusely.

"You have yourself to blame for that", Quinn states, while stealing closer to the bed.

"You told me to trust you. Any other response would have had you bound and gagged in this bed in nine seconds flat."

Rachel's eyes widen and her cheeks are practically purple by now. Quinn settles herself on the bed, right side of Rachel and mere inches away from her body. She hears a soft mewl escaping the shorter woman's mouth when she leans over a little. She balances her weight by slinging her left arm over Rachel's hips, her hand coming to rest just shy of her hipbone. The fingers of her right hand are tracing the comforter in nonsensical patterns, as if she's caressing it, causing Rachel to feel quite envious of the down-filled fabric.

Dark brown eyes follow the slow stroking motion of those long digits, imagining their tips trailing down her arms and/or legs and/or any other part of her body. The fantasy makes her shiver, something not going unnoticed by Quinn. It provides a welcome boost of confidence, knowing she's having such an effect on this woman.

Shifting her weight a little, the inside of Quinn's wrist is now pressing fully against the warmth of Rachel's body, producing another barely stifled vocal reaction. Smug with knowing what's she's doing to Rachel, she can't help but add fuel to the fire.

"You would've liked that, wouldn't you?" she taunts.

"You're the one who just won't let this go, remember? You keep bringing it up. Who would've thought that Rachel Berry, 'No sex until I'm 25', has a kinky side? Did Finn know about this? Did you let him tie you up and do unspeakable things to you?"

Quinn's voice ends in a secretive whisper. Rachel's squinting at her, apparently not at all amused by Quinn's bringing up her ex-boyfriend.

"_Really_, Quinn?" she retorts with a bit of a snarl.

"You're calling _me_ the kinky one while _you're_ the one who's entertaining thoughts of an ex-boyfriend tying me up in bed? You might need to look up the definition of kinky, Fabray."

Quinn loves the bite in her words; it's just like old times. And just like back in the day, Quinn feels her body responding. It's familiar, but exhilarating and she's missed it. Missed _this_. The little spitfire spread out on her bed still knows how to get under her skin and Quinn basks in the feeling. From the look in those sparkling brown eyes, she knows Rachel feels it, too.

It starts another battle of wits. One they both revel in.

- "I will admit to a fantasy or two, but trust me when I say that Finn was never in them."

"Huh! That certainly explains a lot about high school Quinn. Care to share?"

- "In your dreams, Berry. In. Your. Dreams."

"And yours, apparently."

- "Uhuh. Good dreams, those."

"Pervert!"

- "You say it like it's a bad thing."

"I wouldn't know. You're unwilling to share."

- "Who's the pervert now?"

"If it's me you're dreaming of, I have a right to know what you're doing to me. It's common courtesy!"

- "I think not. Besides, I don't think you'd be able to handle the truth."

"Who are you? Jack Nicholson?"

- "Is that whom _you_ dream about? He's a bit old, don't you think? Unless you're into that. Oh, wait. Mr. Schuester! I think I finally get it now!"

"Oh, yuck, Quinn! On both counts. Although, I have to admit I wouldn't turn away Demi Moore in those dress whites."

- "A uniform kink, too, huh? You just keep adding to the list. I'm impressed. Anymore fetishes you'd like to share with the class?"

"You won't show me yours, why should I show you mine?"

- "Because you can't resist me?"

"Nice try, but no dice."

- "Please?"

"Nope. And stop trying, because you won't be able to persuade me."

- "Are you sure?"

"Positive!"

- "Are you _really_ sure?"

With that, Quinn leans into Rachel, her left hand sliding up from hip to shoulder height. Her upper body closes in on Rachel's, their faces almost too intimately close.

Gulping down her nervousness, Rachel keeps her eyes trained on Quinn's, refusing to give in so easily. Quinn's right hand is making contact with Rachel's left, fulfilling her recent little fantasy. A tickling, almost maddening touch travels down the back of her hand. Each finger receives its individual moment of attention, causing another shiver to run down Rachel's back.

Quinn's lips, so close to her own, are beckoning her even closer. It would be so darn easy to just lean up and put an end to her self-inflicted torture. Her steely defiance prevents her from doing just that, not wanting to admit defeat, even though her body is telling her to just give in. She's starting to become dizzy from the impact of having Quinn so close. She could use a pint of blood up north, fueling her brain, but the traitorous liquid seems to have a mind of its own, happily traveling southwards without her permission. She's aroused. Painfully so. Quinn either needs to do something, _anything_, or back away, because Rachel is sure she's about to come from Quinn's proximity alone.

Rachel's heavy breathing is only spurring Quinn on. It's no longer about Rachel waving the white flag first, though it wouldn't hurt to own that particular memory. She knows it's too soon for seeing this through, but she likes the reactions she's provoking. She hadn't been lying when she'd admitted to having a fantasy or two. During her high school days, Quinn had certainly been no stranger to self-gratification, despite her wholesome upbringing. At night, after making sure her parents were _really_ asleep, she'd let her fingers wander under her tank top and frilly boyshorts, thinking of the tight, toned body of one Rachel Berry while doing it. Often times, it had taken only a few short minutes to reach that moment of sweet release, almost disappointing her in its swiftness. Well, disappointing until she'd discovered the joy of multiple orgasms, that is. She knows that tonight, when alone in her bed, remembering the feeling of Rachel underneath her, she'll be thanking God, multiple times, for that particular gift to women.

Rachel's facial expressions are mesmerizing her, calling out to her. Slightly parted lips are begging her to kiss them, lick them, and nibble at them. However, it would be too soon. They're still in a lot of trouble and Quinn has no idea what the immediate future holds. It's easy to forget about real life in this little hideaway, but there's no guarantee things will stay this peaceful.

She's a criminal. A bank robber-turned-kidnapper who's wanted by the authorities. Authorities who're doing everything in their power to catch her and put her away for life and Quinn's not cocky enough to pretend it'll never happen. Suddenly she doesn't feel like a good enough person to have the privilege of being with Rachel like this at all. A burning of another kind quickly douses the flames of her desire, making room for feelings like shame and guilt and remorse. It's making her stomach turn with its intensity. Scrambling away from Rachel, she hurries her way out of the bedroom, leaving a completely dumbfounded Rachel behind.

Making her way down the hallway to her own room, her mind practically implodes with the heaviness of her thoughts. This isn't who she wants to be, though she feels she didn't have much of a choice back then. Had it been up to her, she would've become a successful architect; wanted by the masses, yet having her pick of the crop.

College had been an eye opening experience. She'd finally been able to see herself as something other than the disappointment of the Fabray family. She'd no longer felt like the title of high school Prom Queen slash HBIC would be her only true achievement. She'd loved to draw, even in her teens. The bathroom walls at McKinley could attest to that, though admittedly, those had been more about _de_struction than they had been about _con_struction, but still… College had been her saving grace. Too bad it hadn't lasted.

Knowing of her attraction to girls, thanks to Rachel Berry, college had also been about experimenting. Spending time with girls as well as guys for a while had only solidified what she'd been suspecting all along. She was gay. There'd been no straddling the fence about it. The map to Boy's Town had been burned, the one to Girl's Town laminated and framed. She'd been elated with the newfound freedom to be herself. If only her parents had been as appreciative…

During college, there hadn't been a lot of contact between Quinn and her parents. The only mail she'd received from them consisted of monthly checks, 'taking care' of their daughter the only way they knew how to, and the annual Christmas card, signed by her dad. No added 'How are you' or 'We're fine, too'. No nothing. Just a signature. Unreadable, just as the man having put it there.

In her third year, Quinn met a girl she could see herself falling in love with. With that discovery, she figured the time to confess had arrived. So she had locked herself in her dark dorm room ~ bottle of Dutch courage by her side ~ and had called her parents. The next day saw her packing up her clothes and leaving college behind. No more tuition; no more education. With love, Mommy and Daddy.

No more education had also equaled no more girlfriend. They'd lasted for only a couple of weeks after Quinn's college career had ended, the stress of having to deal with an irate Quinn apparently weighing a lot heavier than the love for her girlfriend. Broke and homeless, Quinn knew she'd been left with only one option. Santana.

While Quinn has locked herself away in her bedroom, Rachel is in the guestroom, wondering what in the Sam Hill just happened. Quinn fleeing had certainly felt like a bucket of ice water poured out over her heated skin, but she's not quite over the moment, yet. Closing her eyes, she tries to get her breathing under control. She feels the fabric of her shirt uncomfortably shifting against her straining nipples. The rapidly cooling wet patch in her panties makes her aware of just how turned on she is. She'll give herself a moment or two to collect herself before hunting Quinn down. Rachel has no idea what the hell is going on, but she _will_ find out or her name isn't Rachel Berry!

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**So, a lot has been explained, but there's more to come. Originally, I wanted to write this as an uncomplicated story. You know, little plot, lots of smut, but I just can't. Somewhere inside of me lives a plotmonster, I just know it. It can't be helped. On the plus side: I've been exercising my M-rated skills. Things are looking good, if I do say so myself. Perhaps something to look forward to?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Let me start by saying Thank! You! to all of you who favorited and subscribed. I think I pm'd all the reviewers, except for the anon's. So, shout out to those of you I can't thank 'personally'.**

**This is mostly a filler chapter. Writing it felt like giving birth! I'm still in the flow, so to speak, so I hope to have another chapter up soon. In the meantime, I hope you'll enjoy this one.**

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**Chapter 7**

Pacing the floor of her bedroom, Quinn is cursing herself for leaving Rachel behind the way she did.

'_Whatever happened to explaining yourself?'_ she berates herself silently.

She can only imagine how confused Rachel must feel right now. If her own addled brain is any sort of indication, Rachel must be working herself into frenzy right now.

She's hit the mark with that thought, because a few doors down the hall, Rachel is trying to make sense of the past half hour. One minute she thinks she's about to pass out from sensory overload, the next she's left cold and bereft by a fleeing Quinn. Common sense forces her to admit that they'd been moving too fast, but common sense had nothing on Quinn leaning over her, _touching_ her. Just thinking about it has her pulse racing.

She should take a shower. Get rid of the lingering tension.

She should change her clothes. Well, her underwear, at least. It's starting to become unbearably uncomfortable.

Then she should call her agent. Come up with a convincing story.

She should smack herself for agreeing to this. Then smack Quinn for putting her in this situation in the first place. There's just no way this is going to end well.

She knows she should do many things, but right now, all she wants is to find Quinn. To find out what made her run. So she gets up and heads for the hallway.

Looking the corridor up and down, she tries to figure out behind which door Quinn is hiding. Approaching the one to her left with tentative steps, she knocks twice. Pressing her ear to the door, she listens for any indication of Quinn's presence in the room, but there's nothing but silence. Not one to be deterred easily, she tries every door lining the hallway, pretty sure she's been requesting entrance to a bathroom and a boiler room along the way.

When she reaches the second to last door, Rachel's certain she's found the right one. From inside the room, she can hear Quinn's voice softly murmuring to herself. The rise and fall in volume making clear that she's moving around, probably pacing.

The moment Rachel's knuckles hit the door, the room falls silent. Inside, Quinn's eyes move to the slab of wood with a pained look. The moment she'd walked away, she knew Rachel wouldn't be able to let it go without an explanation. It would be a hell of a lot easier to open that door if she actually had one. How to explain that, even after all these years, Quinn still feels inadequate when it comes to being with Rachel? Hell, the situation's even worse than it had been back then.

Then, Quinn had the whole of McKinley's student body in the palm of her hand. Not that great an accomplishment, looking back on it now, but back then she'd felt on top of the world. Judge, jury and executioner of the unpopular folk. Reveling in the feeling of her peers looking up to her. Wanting her. Wanting to _be_ her.

Not that she wants to, but she can only imagine how all those people would look at her now, knowing what's become of her. She's a college dropout, a failure. The only thing she's good at is misleading people. Manipulating them. Stealing from them. Taking their hard-earned cash, because she can't make her own. It's not the first time she despises her way of living, but having Rachel here with her, knowing _she's_ one of those people, feels like someone slapping her in the face. With it, comes clarity.

Rachel has become everything she's always promised them she'd be. A star! The diva has taken Broadway by storm. She's adored by hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people. People who'll miss her if Quinn keeps her here. People who will judge her for taking that talent away from them. Judges. Juries. Executioners… She's screwed.

She needs to get Rachel back to New York as soon as possible. No matter how agreeable Rachel seems with the situation, she doesn't deserve this. Rachel needs Broadway. Broadway needs Rachel. It's that simple and Quinn's going to make it happen.

Squaring her shoulders, she finally reaches for the door. Knowing Rachel, she'll still be standing there, waiting for permission to enter. Swinging the door open, she takes a step back, inviting her captive in. Rachel timidly makes her way into Quinn's domain, an even larger space than the guest room. The furnishings are almost the same, though, with combinations of dark wood and whites. The only thing different is the fireplace in this room. Built from the same stone as the one downstairs, but painted in the same color as the ceiling beams, making it blend in with the rest of the room quite handsomely. Rachel truly loves this cabin.

Her eyes fall on Quinn who's facing away from her, staring out the window. She watches the ramrod straight back, toned arms tightly crossed over the blonde's stomach. Rachel recognizes the posture from high school. Quinn Fabray is struggling. She's witnessed it enough times to know that all warmth will have disappeared from her eyes, a scowling mask firmly in place. She still dreams about it sometimes, this side of Quinn, but it never scares her. Not now and not then, because she knows now and she knew then that it's a coping mechanism. She knows a thing or two about it. Back then, all she had wanted was to help this tortured, emotionally challenged girl. Nothing has really changed, except for the fact that she's apparently grown a backbone where Ms. Fabray is concerned.

She approaches Quinn with careful steps, bringing herself to a stop beside the rigid form. Rachel aches to touch her, but refrains herself, knowing it'll only make her run away again.

"Are you okay?" She asks gently.

Quinn doesn't answer, the tightening of her arms the only indication she's heard Rachel's question.

Inwardly, Rachel sighs. She knew it wouldn't be easy getting Quinn to open up, but it's disappointing, nonetheless.

"Did I do something to upset you?" She tries.

An almost imperceptible shake of Quinn's head is all the answer she receives. She watches Quinn's eyes shifting about the outside scenery, telling of the many thoughts occupying her mind. Maybe she should just leave her for now. Give her a chance to compose herself and try again later. But knowing Quinn, later probably meant never and Rachel's just not willing to let this go. She's stubborn that way.

"Do you, maybe, want to talk about it?" Rachel tries again, knowing the answer to her question will be a definite 'NO!'.

Quinn shakes her head again. On the inside, she can't help but chuckle at Rachel's persistence. But she really doesn't want to talk about it. There's a lot going on, in her mind and in her heart, and she needs to sort everything out before being able to voice it all. The only thing she's sure of right now, is that Rachel needs to leave as soon as it's safe. She's not sure how to go about it just yet, but Santana will help her. Quinn will contact her in the morning.

In the meantime, she needs a bit of distance between Rachel and herself. It would be so easy to just give in and end up in bed with her high school crush, but she knows it'll only complicate things. Letting her go now, after having spent only a couple of hours with her is hard enough. Letting her go after finally fulfilling every daydream and fantasy she's ever had about the two of them, would make it impossible.

So, yeah, distance. Starting now. Because she can feel Rachel's warmth right beside her and it's making her feel things she shouldn't crave.

"Are you hungry?" She queries, startling Rachel with the sudden change of subject.

Before Rachel has a chance to respond, Quinn's already moving towards the door.

"I'll make us something to eat", she throws back while walking out the door, once again leaving Rachel behind in a haze of question marks.

Throwing up her hands in defeat, Rachel follows the enigma that is Quinn Fabray out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Entering the kitchen, she finds Quinn nearly buried in an enormous refrigerator. Rachel suspects she could fit her first apartment in there.

Trying not to lose herself in the tantalizing image Quinn's backside presents, she moves to the center island, settling herself on one of the barstools. With her back turned to Quinn, she becomes aware of the room. Obviously, money had been no object for whoever built this place. She lets out an awed whistle before salivating over her stainless steel surroundings. From what she's seen of the house so far, she didn't expect anything this … modern. She likes it, though. She promises herself to make good use of this room at least once while she's here.

"Are you still a vegan?" Quinn asks from right beside her, dropping her chilled bounty on the counter top along with a knife and a cutting board.

"Do I need to put a bell on you?" She returns, startled by Quinn's unexpected closeness.

Chuckling at the dramatic way Rachel brings her hand to her chest, as if to calm her heartbeat, Quinn starts chopping up a variety of vegetables. Rachel's looking on with undeniable envy at the apparent ease and expertise of Quinn's culinairy skills.

"So, are you?" Quinn questions again, looking up at Rachel expectantly, never once faltering in her movements.

"Yeah. Still vegan", Rachel responds without taking her eyes off Quinn's hands.

The thoughts running through the dark-haired diva's mind having nothing to do with cooking. All she can think about is how dexterous those fingers seem to be. It's like watching food-porn on the Cooking Network. Her body's reaction reminds her of her earlier discomfort. She _really_ needs to change her underwear.

Meanwhile, a happily slicing and dicing Quinn is none the wiser. She has no idea that she's unintentionally driving Rachel crazy with want. It's a good thing, too, because that particular piece of knowledge would undoubtedly have her rethink the promise she's made to herself earlier.

Tearing her gaze away from temptation, Rachel decides she needs to busy herself before doing something stupid.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" She offers, trying to keep her eyes level with Quinn's.

- "Nope, nothing I can think of. Maybe you'd like to freshen up before dinner?"

"I would. And I, um, could use a change of clothes?"

-"Of course. If you don't mind sweats and a t-shirt. I think you'd drown in my jeans."

"Are you calling me short?"

-"Why would I? There's really no reason to state the obvious, is there?"

"Maybe you're just a _big_ girl, Quinn."

-"Are you calling me fat?"

"If the XXL fits …"

-"It doesn't. If it did, I don't think you'd be checking out my ass every chance you get…"

Rachel's stunned into silence. Quinn's looking like the cat that ate the canary, glad to have left the earlier tension behind them.

"What? You really thought I wouldn't notice?" She teases, loving the way Rachel blushes.

"I'm offended by your insinuation", Rachel squeaks indignantly, knowing her red cheeks are belying her statement.

"I'm sure you are, Berry, but that doesn't make it any less true."

And as if to prove her theory, Quinn drops her knife, wipes her hands on the back of her jeans and marches out of the kitchen, Rachel's eyes instantly zeroing in on her denim-clad behind. Without looking, Quinn knows exactly what's holding Rachel's attention. With one last jibe, she makes her way up the stairs.

"If you want that shower, stop thinking about my ass and get yours in gear, Berry!"

Crude but effective, it seems, for not a minute later, Rachel's appears on the first floor landing. Her cheeks are still burning, Quinn notices.

"Bathroom's through there", Quinn points towards a door.

"Towels are underneath the sink. Use whatever it is you need in there. I'll go grab you something to wear."

Rachel watches her walk away, struggling to keep her eyes away from _it_, refusing to further prove Quinn right. Walking into the bathroom, she finds the towels and a slew of hair care products, lotions and perfumes. Quinn likes to pamper herself, it seems. Choosing a shampoo and conditioner, she patiently awaits Quinn's return.

When the blonde walks in with only pants and a tank top, Rachel curses under her breath. Now she has to _ask_ for underwear. As if she's not feeling embarrassed enough as it is.

"Thank you", she tells Quinn, taking the clothes from her.

"Um, may I be so bold as to request some undergarments, too?" She heckles, not daring to make eye contact.

While doing a great job of hiding her amusement, Quinn can't keep the grin of her face. Flustered Rachel is _adorable_.

"Not a problem, Rachel. Silk, satin or lace?"

And if her voice sounds husky at the end of that question, she claims it's unintentional. Otherwise, it would mean that she's flirting. And flirting does not go together with keeping distance.

But Rachel makes it so easy ~ _too_ easy ~ for Quinn to forget about her good intentions. She loves the blushes and the stuttering and the shy glances. How could she not?

Just watching her standing there, wide-eyed and innocent, has Quinn wanting to press her up against the wall and kiss her into oblivion. That's _not_ keeping distance, either.

Rachel's answer doesn't do anything to quench her desire. If anything, it only spurs her imagination on.

The softly muttered, "Lace, please", almost makes her groan aloud.

She curses her brain for conjuring up images of Rachel wearing nothing but a pair of lace bikini briefs and she may need a change of underwear herself after this.

"Bra, too?" Quinn asks, detesting the tremble in her voice.

"Um, no", Rachel declines, voice equally unsteady.

"I don't think we're … I mean, I … It wouldn't fit", she finally forces out.

"Right! Yeah! Okay!", Quinn husks, before tearing out of the bathroom, making breathing a whole lot easier for the both of them.

Making her way into her room, Quinn can think of nothing else but Rachel in bikini briefs and that tank top, sans bra. It's going to be a long night. She can't wait to go to bed and finally take care of all this sexual tension.

In the bathroom, Rachel is looking at the showerhead with unusual intent before ridding her mind of the inappropriate thought. She can wait a little while longer, if and only _if_ Quinn stops provoking her. If not, she won't be held responsible for her actions and there's no way she'll let Quinn run away from her a second time.

* * *

**Like I said, like pulling teeth! Next chapter will be my first foray into some M-rated business. Let us pray...**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey all! First of all, thank you to those of you who left reviews. It's been a crazy week, so I haven't gotten around to thanking you personally. Just know that it is very much appreciated.**

Second of all, this took longer than I thought it would. With work being a bitch and real life doing a wonderful job of playing its evil twin, things got kinda hectic for a couple of days. I think it's safe to say that the rest of this story's chapters will be posted on weekends from now on.

Anyway, here's the continuation of chapter 8. Read and enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 8 (Including the previsouly posted preview)**

While Rachel is taking a shower, Quinn is in the kitchen trying to keep her mind out of the bathroom, mindlessly sautéing paprika and unions in soy sauce. With the rice already boiling on the stove, there really isn't a lot left to do but putting a salad together. And let her mind wander. Into the bathroom, apparently.

In a perfect world, she'd turn off the burners, right about now. In a perfect world, she'd shed her shirt while climbing the stairs. At the landing, she'd toe off her shoes and unzip her jeans. Step out of the denim then take off her socks. In just bra and panties, she'd open the bathroom door and let the warm, scented air wash over her. In a perfect world, Rachel would rip open the shower curtain, reveal herself unabashedly. Rivulets of water would lick down her chest, touch the skin Quinn has dreamed of touching for so long. In a perfect world, Rachel would tell her, 'Took you long enough', before beckoning Quinn closer with just the crook of a finger. She would obey.

While shredding the lettuce, Quinn feels herself shivering as she imagines warm, wet hands unclasping her bra. Those same small hands guiding the straps from her shoulders down her arms, fingertips whispering along her skin until pink lace hits the floor. Her mind has Rachel watching on in awe, taking in her topless torso with thinly veiled desire. The next image is of Rachel crouching down in front of her, looking up at her with half-lidded, near-black eyes. Quinn feels herself swallow thickly, in real life and in her fantasy, before her fantasy-self nods the assent fantasy-Rachel is silently asking for. Nimble fingers would hook themselves into the waistband of her boyshorts, deliberately tugging down the fabric while raking blunt nails down the skin of her thighs and calves.

While fantasy-Quinn grips Rachel's shoulders to steady herself, real life Quinn can be found gripping the countertop for the same reasons. Squeezing her eyelids tightly shut, she feels non-existent fingers making their way up again. Ankles, calves, thighs, hips. She sighs in pleasure, thanking the deity responsible for her Technicolor 3D imagination, because phantom Rachel is leaning into her, those sinful lips closing in on her with undisguised intent. She dreams herself fisting dark strands of hair, preventing her from falling over in all of her overwhelming bliss.

"What did the lettuce ever do to you?" She hears from a foot away.

Cruelly ripped from her fantasy, Quinn finds a freshly showered Rachel standing right behind her. With a deepening sense of embarrassment, she watches the battlefield of produce in front of her. Tiny pieces of meshed-up lettuce are strewn all about the countertop, practically all of them having missed the inside of the salad bowl.

"Um, what?" She manages to breathe through the lingering lustful haze.

Rachel regards her with a playful grin.

"I asked what you have against the lettuce, because I think you won this round."

Quinn feels a blush rise on her cheeks.

"Oh, um, just … preoccupied, I guess", she murmurs, internally wincing at the lame excuse.

Knowing eyes try to catch Quinn's, but the blonde is defiant in not letting it happen. She's sure she can't look Rachel in the eye for at least another couple of minutes without giving her earlier thoughts away. Besides, her subconscious helpfully supplies; sweats, tank top, _no bra! _Yep! It's just an all around terrible idea to look at Rachel right now.

Wiping up the green goo from the workstation, Quinn spends a few more moments inside her own mind before, inevitably, having to interact with Rachel face to face.

"No salad, I'm afraid", she apologizes halfheartedly while disposing herself of the slaughtered leaves.

"No worries", Rachel immediately counters, enjoying Quinn's awkwardness more than she probably should.

She thinks she has a pretty good grasp on the workings of Quinn's mind. This level of embarrassment she recognizes from their conversation in the woods. Quinn has sex on the brain. On the other hand, maybe she's just mirroring, because earlier? In the shower? Rachel had sex on the brain, all right.

Halfway through her shower, she'd imagined herself marching out of the bathroom stark naked and wet, her mind leading her down the stairs and into the kitchen where she'd push Quinn against the counter without preamble and have her wicked way with the gorgeous kidnapper.

Closing her eyes against the stream of hot water, she'd watched herself roughly strip Quinn of her shirt and jeans, kissing and licking every inch of newly bared skin. In her fantasy, Quinn would be an all too willing participant, voicing her approval of Rachel's dominant approach through husked moans and delighted gasps.

While mentally divesting Quinn of her bra and panties, Rachel had gone weak in the knees. Thankful for the wall holding her up, she'd let her mind wander freely into decidedly x-rated territory. Quinn sitting on the counter, legs spread just wide enough to accommodate Rachel's slight frame. Small hands making their way up deliciously muscled thighs. Fingers gripping womanly hips, pulling the taller form towards the edge of the counter, closing the distance between a wanting mouth and a willing body. Silently asking for permission by looking up into desire-filled eyes and receiving it by a fluttering of eyelids and a wanton moan before bringing her mouth towards her intended target.

"Ready to eat?" Quinn's voice interrupts the vivid recollection of her shower fantasy.

Becoming aware of the fact that she's standing in the middle of the kitchen, daydreaming of the stuff porn movies are made of, Rachel finds herself matching Quinn's earlier embarrassment. Dinner is going to be _so_ awkward.

When she hears herself answer with, "Yes, I could _definitely_ eat something", and her mind wanders _there_ again, all she can do is hope that Quinn doesn't notice the lustful gaze being thrown her way, nor the hardening of her nipples beneath the flimsy fabric of her cotton top.

When she finds Quinn watching her with a suggestively raised eyebrow and a devilish smirk tugging at her lips, Rachel knows all hope is lost. Quinn has _definitely_ noticed.

Quinn has _definitely_ noticed. But for the sake of her own sanity, she acts as though having a beautiful, obviously aroused woman around is a daily occurrence. Putting all of her effort into serving dinner, she hopes to create distraction from the nearness of one Rachel Berry.

Dinner is a quiet affair, with Quinn not knowing how to look at Rachel without _looking_ at Rachel ~but chancing glances every couple of seconds anyway~ and a smirking dinner companion trying not to show too obviously how much she's enjoying the tension.

Quinn tries to ignore the appreciative sounds coming from across the table, every subtle moan making her choke down one of her own. She knows Rachel is playing a game with her when she catches the woman making love to her silverware. Full lips wrap around the tines of her fork, pulling the utensil back as if in slow motion. Turning the fork over in her hand, Rachel cleans the back of the tines in a long, slow lick, closing her eyes in the process. Quinn feels her grip tighten on her own cutlery, a growl making its way up her throat. She's not going to last through dinner if Rachel keeps this up and already her mind's coming up with images of clearing the table with one sweep of her arm, yanking Rachel out of her seat and pushing her down onto the smooth surface to have her for dessert.

Another breathy moan pulls her out of her thoughts, the sound making it impossible to ignore the want coursing through her body.

"God, Quinn. _So_ goooood", Rachel purrs at her, drawing out the vowels of the last word, making her sound extremely grateful, seductive and horny all at once. Quinn's eyes close of their own accord, her breathing deep and even to try to get back the control Rachel is so expertly coaxing away from her. She feels the handles of her own knife and fork digging into her palms from the death grip she's keeping on them, the uncomfortable feeling distracting her from her tormentor albeit slightly. Rachel's knowing chuckle infuriates her. She knows exactly what she's doing and her blatant enjoyment of it makes Quinn want to retaliate. She hasn't changed _that_ much since high school. Without looking, she knows Rachel is the picture of smug right now, thinking she has Quinn right where she wants her. She viciously skewers the vegetables on her plate, not giving Rachel the satisfaction of looking up at her.

Rachel knows she should stop her somewhat immature behavior, but knowing that she's getting to Quinn overrules her conscience. There's just something completely addictive in knowing that she, Rachel Berry, is slowly but surely breaking down Quinn Fabray's resolve. She briefly ponders if it would've been equally as affective in high school, this not wearing a bra thing. Too late to test that theory, but she's sure as hell going to benefit from the knowledge now.

Rachel finds it highly amusing that Quinn can't even look at her. Flattering, too. She can't remember ever having met someone who's reacted this strongly to her physically. It's a wonderful feeling. It's intoxicating. And she hasn't had her complete fill of it yet. Quinn will either just have to suck it up or do something about. She's aiming for the latter, of course, though it probably wouldn't take much to send her soaring.

After clearing her plate, Rachel decides to kick it up a notch. Leaning back in her chair, she brings up her arms over her head and stretches her body, the arch of her back pulling the cotton tightly over her chest. She watches the knife and fork drop from Quinn's hand, the loud clang of metal hitting porcelain startling Quinn more than Rachel. In one swift movement, Quinn gets up and collects their plates before stalking her way to the counter and unceremoniously dropping the plates in the sink. She thinks she hears them breaking, but couldn't care less. All she wants is to get away from Rachel before she does something stupid.

In record time, she has the table cleared and the dishwasher filled. Pointedly ignoring Rachel, she hauls ass out of the kitchen and stomps up the stairs. A very proud and satisfied Rachel watches her go, blinding smile fixed upon her face. She hears one door slam followed by another. The last dull thud closer by and the hum of the boiler indicate that Quinn's taking a shower. Great! Now she's back to square one, where thoughts of a naked and wet Quinn await her.

In the shower, Quinn is fuming. She's pissed at Rachel for trying to bait her, but even more angry with herself for not only taking that bait but let herself be reeled in, too. Hook, line and sinker. Even worse is that she didn't even try to get off the hook, allowing Rachel to leave her floundering. But what's really bothering her most of all is how much she enjoyed getting caught up in Rachel's game. She'd almost handed all of her control over to Rachel and didn't think twice about it until it was almost too late. It's not like her to allow people to push her buttons, but Rachel seems to be the exception to the rule. Just as she had been in high school.

While getting dressed, Quinn decides it's best to avoid Rachel and her scheming mind for the rest of the evening. Quinn needs to reload her resolve to be able to stand anymore teasing. Also, she could use the time to think this situation over. She still has to find a way to get Rachel back to civilization as soon as possible. Even more importantly, she needs a few moments of alone time. Sexual tension has been driving her crazy all day and she really needs to … unwind.

Mind made up, she goes back downstairs to find Rachel, whom she finds wiping down the dinner table. Clearing her throat to announce her presence, she steps into the kitchen.

"Hey, you don't have to clean up after me, you know. I would've taken care of it later on."

Rachel just shrugs and continues to putter around the kitchen, acting as if she hadn't driven Quinn to the brink of insanity only a half hour before.

"It's okay. It's the least I could do after such a scrumptious meal."

"Scrumptious?" Quinn can't help but ask.

Another shrug.

"Yes, scrumptious. Apparently, I still haven't coughed up that dictionary."

Quinn can't help but chuckle at that.

"Apparently. But thank you for the compliment".

"No problem", Rachel retorts while wringing out the dishrag over the sink.

"I'd like to return the favor and cook for you at least once while I'm here. If it's alright with you, of course", she says while turning around to face Quinn.

"No complaints here", the blonde immediately agrees.

"Though I do know my way around a kitchen, cooking is not something I look forward to every day."

"I wouldn't mind doing the cooking from now on", Rachel offers sincerely.

"And before you protest, I do know how to prepare meat. Quite deliciously for that matter, or so my fathers have told me. Oh, and I make a mean Eggs Florentine. And omelets. With bacon".

The expected protest dies on Quinn's lips at the mention of bacon. She knows she's going to take Rachel up on her offer, but she wants to see where her new chef draws the line.

"Eggs Sunny Side Up?"

- "With bacon?"

"Of course."

- "Not a problem."

"Chicken?"

- "Only if it doesn't look like part of a chicken anymore. Chicken breast is fine, but legs and wings are a no-go."

"Pork?"

- "Bacon is pork, so yes. But no ears, tails, paws or noses."

"Oh, yuck, Rachel. As if. What about fish?"

- "Same conditions as the chicken. Not if it still looks like a fish."

"That kind of rules out fish, don't you think? Steak?"

- "Um …"

"No steak?"

- "Steak's kind of bloody. I tried to cook it once, but all I could hear was the sound of pitiful mooing in my head. Right after, I went online and adopted a cow. I don't think I can do steak. No Bambi, Thumper or Phillipe, either."

"Phillipe?"

- "Belle's horse."

"Ah. Got it. Lamb?"

- " … " The disapproving look speaks for itself.

"Okay, then. No little lambs, no cows, no deer, no rabbits and no horses. I think I can live with those exceptions. I guess that means you're hired."

- "Splendid! Do you want me to make a menu or should we just improvise? What would you like for breakfast tomorrow? Eggs, bacon, fresh fruit? Wait! What about groceries? Is there a store nearby? What if …"

"Rachel!" Quinn cuts her off with a fond smile. This side of Rachel stirs up so many wonderful memories.

"This place is stocked up for a month at least. We'll get by. Trust me. I'm not fussy when it comes to food, so I'll leave the menu up to you. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm off to bed. It's been a long day and I'm about to crash."

- "But it's only … eight!" Rachel exclaims after glancing at her watch.

"I know, but it _has_ been a long day. Weird, too. Besides, I need my beauty rest."

- "Angling for compliments there, Fabray?"

"Hardly", Quinn counters in a haughty voice while flipping her hair back in a snobbish sort of way, making Rachel snort in amusement.

- "I don't need you to tell me that I'm gorgeous. I have mirrors for that exact same purpose."

"I didn't know they made mirrors big enough to fit the size of your head".

- "I had my people call your people. They told me where to shop", Quinn deadpans, causing a giggle fit to erupt between the two of them.

- "Seriously, though. I'm heading upstairs. Feel free to roam around the house. Mi casa es tu casa for the time being. If you need anything, let me know but no sooner than tomorrow morning, thank you very much."

"I think I can manage without you for a couple of hours, but if the need to disturb you should arrive, I'll try to contain myself. Wouldn't want you to miss out on that much needed beauty sleep."

- "Psh! You don't fool me. Don't think I've forgotten your little stunt during dinner. Or your little ass-oriented ogle-fests. You want me and we both know it!", Quinn triumphantly states with a finger pointed in Rachel's direction.

Surprising herself by not blushing at the cold, hard, _true_ facts thrown her way, Rachel just smirks at her.

"I think you're really ready for bed, 'cause it sounds to me you're already dreaming. Is your sleep walking something I should be concerned about?"

- "Hardy har har! You're wasting your talent on Broadway, Rachel. You'd be a great comedian. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to bed. Watch me walk away, Berry. Oh wait, you're going to do that anyway."

Thinking she has the last word in, Quinn turns on her heel and marches away from Rachel. Just before she rounds the corner, she hears Rachel's voice carrying after her.

"Sweet dreams, Quinn, and should I meet you there, make sure you lose those jeans!"

- "Well, _fuck_!"

Square one? It's Quinn again.

Feeling a little lost now that she's all by herself, Rachel starts exploring her temporary home. She wonders if Quinn would want to sell this place to her, because she's really, truly head-over-heels in love with the cabin. She can see herself coming here to unwind from the busy city life, making good use of the solitude the location provides.

Wandering into the living room she's so enamored with, her eyes instantly lock onto the fireplace. The same vision from before enters her mind, warming her from the inside out as if she's really making love with Quinn in front of a roaring fire. It makes her wonder how much of the cabin's appeal has to do with its beautiful owner.

Just this morning, before the heist, Quinn Fabray had been nothing but a memory from a time long gone. Now, only a few hours later, the woman is very much a part of her present and her near distant future. Rachel wonders if she should feel more upset with that fact. Or the fact that she's being held against her will. Kidnapped. Quinn is going to be in a lot of trouble if they ever catch her. The thought pains her. A lot. Another thing to wonder about.

Willing the morose thoughts out of her head, Rachel thinks about the rest of the day. More specifically, the exhilarating moments spent in Quinn's proximity. The teasing and playful banter is something she can easily get used to. Quinn's such a willing subject, too. She can't help but grin at the memory of a highly flustered Quinn fleeing the kitchen earlier. She likes knowing she has this kind of power over Quinn, something she wouldn't have believed had she not seen it with her own eyes. She's thrilled by it and she wants to explore it. Now all she needs is for Quinn to give in and therein lies the problem.

Every time Rachel gets too close, Quinn runs and hides. And Rachel lets her. Maybe _that's_ the problem. Rachel lets her. Well, no more then. Next time, Rachel will hunt her down and bend or break her will. She can't wait!

Satisfied with her game plan, she decides to call it a day, too. It's pretty much a luxury for her these days to catch more than a few hours of sleep. Might as well take advantage of her 'predicament'.

But first, she needs to call her agent. She should've thought of it before, since the show starts in about twenty minutes. Flicking off the lights downstairs before heading up the stairs, she tries to come up with a believable story. She's not a convincing liar and her agent knows her like the back of his hand. This is going to be the performance of a lifetime.

She quietly shuts the bedroom door behind her, as to not wake Quinn, and flicks on the overhead light before crossing the room and settling on the bed. Retrieving her phone from her purse, she takes a couple of deep breaths to prepare herself for the impending conversation.

Hitting speed dial #1, she closes her eyes, mentally telling herself that she can do this.

"Where the hell are you?" Is what her agent greets her with.

"You should've been here an hour ago! You'd better be dead or dying, Berry! Anything else is unacceptable!"

A quick, searing flash of guilt bubbles up inside of her. The anger in his voice is unmistakable and if there's one thing Rachel Berry can't stand, it's people being angry with her.

"I'm so, so sorry, George, but I can't make it tonight. I'm neither dead nor dying, but I am feeling rather faint. I think I caught the flu, or something."

"Then why the hell didn't you call to let me know? Your understudy lives half an hour away from the theater. There is no way we'll be able to start on time. Damn it, Rachel!"

"I fell asleep. I'm sorry. I really am!" She offers nervously, hoping to cut the conversation short.

The longer she talks to him, the more nervous she'll get and a nervous Rachel Berry is a ranting Rachel Berry. Who knows what she'll reveal once she really starts talking.

"Once again, I'm truly sorry. But I have to go. I think I'm going to be sick and I'd rather not have you be witness to it. I'll contact you in a couple of days, okay?"

George lets out a heavy sigh, knowing that there's nothing he can do to change the situation.

"Fine, Rachel. Let me know how you're doing, okay? Do I need to send someone over to take care of you?" He offers, knowing his star doesn't have many friends in her life.

The offer makes Rachel's eyes burn with oncoming tears. He always takes such good care of her, even if he's a grouch about it sometimes. It makes the guilt flare up again, but she pushes it and the tears down, knowing it's a done deal now.

"I'll be fine, Georgie, but thanks for offering. Talk to you soon. Bye!"

Without waiting for a goodbye, Rachel ends the conversation. Falling backwards on the bed, she heaves a deep, relieved sigh. That could've gone a lot worse, she compliments herself. She feels the stress of the conversation seep out of her along with the rest of her energy. She forces herself up to get the lights and nearly crawls back to the bed. After shedding her clothes, she lets herself drown in the softness of the mattress. What a day…

In the bedroom down the hall, a wide-awake Quinn is thinking the exact same thing. What a day, indeed. Though wholly unexpected, today's happenings aren't all bad. The heist could've gone better, yes. But it's not as if she has a vast amount of experience in that area. Quinn's expertise consists of reading blueprints and finding the best ways to enter with the least amount of damage. Doing the actual entering and demanding is more Santana's cup of tea. Or shot glass of Cuervo, if she wants to get technical. She wonders what would've happened had Santana been the one recognized by Rachel. She shivers just thinking about it.

Walking out of a bank with nothing to show for it, money-wise that is, should be more upsetting, shouldn't it? After all the planning, investigating, and staking out the place, shouldn't she be more disappointed with the outcome? Or is it that Rachel's a welcome consolation prize? Okay, that sounds demeaning, even in her own head, but it's a little bit true. She does have something to show for that heist. She's not money, gold or diamonds, but Quinn can't help but think her eventual cargo is invaluable nonetheless. Worth more than money, gold, or diamonds.

Rolling her eyes at herself for being incredibly sappy, she turns onto her back, eyes fixed on the obscured ceiling. Her whole being is very aware of the fact that Rachel is resting just down the hall. She's heard her come up the stairs a short while ago and her body's been on high alert ever since.

She finds herself curious about Rachel's sleeping habits. Does she toss and turn before falling asleep? Maybe she's one of those people who tucker out the moment their head hits the pillow. She's incredibly envious of people like that.

Resting her hand on her own naked stomach, she wonders if Rachel sleeps in the nude, finally letting her mind wander where it's wanted to since hitting the mattress. She wonders if Rachel's mind is wandering there, too.

All day long, they've been teasing and flirting and it has definitely taken its toll on Quinn. Had her libido been an actual body part, she's pretty sure it would be sore in the morning from overuse. Her imagination, too, probably. Both have had quite a work out today. Judging from the way her body's reacting to the thought of a naked Rachel just down the hall, the vigorous exercising is still going strong.

Rachel's parting comment had her blushing to the roots of her hair. The singer's admiration for her backside was flattering, no doubt about it. She thinks of the ways Rachel would come up with to satisfy that particular obsession. The heat coursing through her body from the thought alone makes her grateful for ditching her sleepwear.

The hand on her stomach starts teasing a path up and down her abs. Closing her eyes, she allows her thoughts free reign, giving in to what her body's been asking of her all day long.

After flinging off the covers, she brings her other hand into play. Starting out with soft, teasing touches, she works herself up slowly. While her right hand continues to caress her stomach, her left is making its way up her chest, stroking the soft skin between her breasts. She feels her nipples tighten in response, causing a quiet moan to escape her mouth.

She feels the soft skin underneath her fingertips, enjoys it. Her right hand becomes bolder, inching further towards her heated center on every down stroke while her left hand cups a breast. Teasing the nipple between her thumb and forefinger, she feels the wetness between her thighs increase exponentially, making her spread her legs almost automatically.

She pulls up her legs, feet flat on the bed. The V-shape it creates, allows her to run her hand up and down the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She's so wet already, but she wants to draw it out, even though the hours and hours of foreplay should make her want it hard and fast.

Another moan escapes her, this one louder than the first. She bites her lip after that to keep all sound inside, not wanting Rachel to catch on to her bedroom activities. Not knowing that just outside, a certain brunette is leaning against the wall across from Quinn's bedroom with her eyes closed and a hand pushed down her lacy briefs, trying to stifle her own breathy moans and sighs while enjoying Quinn's.

Rachel hadn't been able to sleep, thoughts and fantasies of Quinn keeping her awake. She hadn't come down to Quinn's room for this, for sex, but hearing the unmistakable sounds of a self-loving Quinn carrying through the door made her think _this_ was a good idea. She could've gone back to the guest room and taken care of herself there, but that would mean she'd have to make do without hearing Quinn. Not acceptable. So she's risking it. Besides, if Quinn keeps making those sounds, she'll be done for within seconds. Wanting to make it quick, Rachel only pays attention to her clit. Tracing fast, tight circles around the hard little nub with two fingers, she can already feel her orgasm approaching.

Inside the room, Quinn is mirroring Rachel's actions. With the middle finger of her left hand, she's stroking her clit leisurely. The ring and middle finger of her other hand are moving in and out of her soaking center, bringing her to the edge rather quickly.

All movement stops, however, when she hears a sound coming from the hallway. Listening intently, she tries to determine what it is she's hearing. It has to be Rachel, but what is she doing there? Embarrassed at possibly having been caught masturbating, Quinn starts to pull her hands away from her happy places.

There! There's that sound again. Holding her breath, Quinn tries to identify the sound filtering through her bedroom door. Wait a minute. That sounds like … Is she …? Oh! My! God! She is!

When realization sets in, Quinn doesn't know what to think or feel. Her body catches on a lot quicker, though. She's gushing. Down there. She's gushing down there! Because Rachel is _touching herself_ and the only thing hiding that undoubtedly orgasm-inducing image from Quinn's view, is a goddamned two-inch slab of wood! She hates that door. Despises it. Wants to burn it then bury its ashes just to make sure that it's really gone.

With her imagination running wild now, Quinn returns her hands to their previous tasks. With Rachel setting the rhythm for her ministrations, she comes hard and fast, her silent scream of 'Rachel' echoed by an equally silent 'Quinn'.

Things are going to be so awkward in the morning.


End file.
